|
Last
night we had my favorite dinner - fried
chicken and mashed potatoes. Trevor was
jabbering about some really old baseball
card that Ray's uncle had and Felicia was
telling me that she and Kyle weren't going
to be seeing each other anymore because
she thought he was a little
too friendly (and she gave me
a look so I'd know that he was moving
along a little faster than her usual speed
limit). And my parents were having a major
debate about which part of the chicken is
the best and why (we're talking breasts
versus thighs). It was pretty loud and I
was listening to all of this and thinking
how nice and warm it was being all
together in the kitchen. With the five of
us and that pecan pie of Mom's still doing
its thing in the oven. That's when the
phone rang and Trevor jumped up to get it
('cause he's always wishing someone would
call him). It turned out to be Aunt
Beatrice, my mom's younger sister who
lives in Los Angeles.
My
mom and dad gave each other a "what now?"
look as she took the phone from Trevor.
You see, Aunt Beatrice and my mom aren't
exactly best friends, on account of the
fact that Aunt Beatrice has a habit of
dating really wild guys and running out of
money and forgetting she has a family
until she needs something. I guess Mom
figured it couldn't be anything good that
Beatrice was calling to tell
her.
And
it wasn't. Grandma Webster had a stroke
and was in a coma. Suddenly I felt really
cold. My mom started shaking so bad that
my dad had to take the phone and write
down the information.
After
Dad hung up my mom looked at him and he
just put his arms around her and held her
while she cried. I'd never seen Dad acting
so sweet and tender to my mom. And I'd
never seen my mom looking so sad and lost
and in need of a friend. I was thinking
how nice it must be to have someone who
understands when you need a hug. Someone
who knows you that well that you don't
even need to say a word. They just feel it
and put their arms around you and hold you
for as long as you want. Me and Felicia
and Trevor just sat there, our food
getting cold, watching Mom and Dad in each
other's arms. Then the phone rang again.
It was Uncle Will in Sacramento. He's my
mom's older brother and he likes to take
charge of things. So he told my mother
what time he'd be arriving in Los Angeles
the next morning and what time was my
mother's bus arriving so he could meet her
at the bus station.
Well,
that kinda woke up Momma and she started
making plans. We spent the next few hours
running around getting the suitcases out
of storage and helping her pack and she
was leaving all kind of reminders written
on little pieces of yellow paper for Dad
since he was going to stay home and watch
after all of us while Momma was away
visiting Grandma. And there were lots of
phone calls. It seemed like Momma was
letting everyone in the world know that
her mother had had a stroke and that she
was going to Los Angeles on the 7 am
Greyhound. If she wasn't so upset about
Grandma I'm sure she would have been
excited about the trip. My mother has
always loved to travel. But this wasn't a
trip. This was something real scary. Not
going to the big city... going to the
unknown where death might be waiting at
the other end.
After
me and Felicia cleaned up the kitchen I
went in to say goodbye to Momma because
she was going to be gone before I got up
the next morning. Then I got into bed and
the house was still except for Mom and Dad
talking quietly in their room down the
hall. The door was closed and all I could
hear was murmuring.
I
started thinking about Grandma. How she
loved playing gin rummy and how she never
forgot the birthday of any of her children
or sons and daughters-in-law or her 11
grandchildren. How she loved cats and how
she always had something friendly and
encouraging to say to any child she met.
And I thought about the hard life she
lived and how, compared to the things she
had to put up with, the stuff that bums me
out is so minor. I mean, even when things
were really hard for her, when she was
young and totally on her own and barely
making it, she still had enough spirit to
believe things would be better some day.
And that's what she wrote in her journal.
About her wishes and prayers for a
brighter future. I wondered if the whole
prayer thing really counted for anything
at all. I wasn't sure, but I sure knew I
didn't want Grandma to die. So I guessed
it couldn't hurt to pray. And I did. Real
hard.
The
next morning I woke up and remembered that
Mom was gone to Los Angeles to see Grandma
who was very sick. I didn't want to get
up, but I did. And I went to
school.
|
